That’s...disappointing. 

For all the Hermetician was dedicated to their work, for all the skill they showed, they didn’t look like they were enjoying themselves much. Much the opposite, they just looked angry and upset all the time. This was just like that time with the Azura, only there he’d been able to help matters with a carefully-timed stew. Hermeticians weren’t known for their conventional appetites. If they still ate at all anymore.

Still, that did explain the bullet holes and he was helping. (Was Vasilia alright? She sounded unhurt on the pipes. He would have to check on her when he got back to the bridge.) Dolce dutifully followed the shouted directions, taking great care not to repeat any mistakes.


****************************************************


She did not feel the ship move.

This was not the ruthless jerk of a Boarpedo, nor the dizzying dance of a Plover. The debris around them simply started floating backwards, as if caught in a gentle breeze. The retreating star before them stopped shrinking as Jas’o himself fought against the headwind. But it was useless. Only the Plousios was still. Only the Plousios was immune. The breeze became a gust, the gust became a squall, the squall became a gale, the wreckage of World-Eater’s fall scattered and dashed itself on their prow, and the light! The light! The light of the Vesterok drew ever-closer, filling every viewport, brighter and brighter until the star shields cried out in searing agony.

And she was unmoved.

“Ladies and gentlemen; do brace for impact.”

Plosuios, faithful Plosuios, carried her to the star’s heart.

[Rolling to [b]Finish[/b] a gosh-danged warship: 3 + 4 + 1 = [b]8[/b]]